Mama says
“You are too loud with your protests of various injustices
in between the bruised knees
of your brother and your sister’s suitors,
I don’t have the time to devote to your
foolishness”
I slip on my sneakers to keep from crying
I slip into my sneakers to keep from crying
amidst the chicken-stew smell emanating from the kitchen
And the hustle and bustle of my brother’s entrance
he tugs my hair without warning but before
I can gather the wit to smack him to jupiter and beyond, mama turns around,
wooden spoon in hand
daring me to lay hands on this creature who never fails to remind me of his
two year seniority
thinking of the sword of Damocles I skip
out past the stoop, by the girls playing double dutch
“Red Hot Pepper in the Pot,
Who’s got more than the leader’s got?
one, two…”
these girls who never invite me,
turn their heads at my obvious curiosity
and my dirty reeboks this is nike territory
one of them asks,
why are your elbows so ashy?
accusation in her tone and bone straight hair
edges smoothed down with vaseline, all their smiles too gleaming and mean
for my knotted kinks that leave traces in the sink when I comb them out
why are your elbows so ashy?
thinking of the sword of Damocles, I skip past the sidewalk
my scuffed shoes scuffing the rainbow chalk of hopscotch,
hearts with phrases such as: billy loves dee dee, etc. etc
into the corner store’s air-conditioning
the asian clerk doesn’t look up behind her
soap opera digest
I jingle my pocket change before picking the
coldest cherry coke from the front of the back freezer
The she says “fifty cents”
she watches my counting
“fifteen…thirty-five…”
one coin slips behind the counter
I mumble some “sorries”,
before either of us notice the masked men
who come in fast and tell her
“empty the cash register!”
